Chapter 21
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Evan climbs onto the table and settles into the chair facing me, the one directly in front of Brad.
He gives a little shimmy as the wood creaks under him, making the restraint chair his stage prop, and his shoulders loosen while mine try to climb into my ears.
His dark curls fall into his eyes above a grin that only gets wider.
Even on the verge of being strapped into a game there’s no getting out of, Evan somehow looks like he expects to have a good time.
Dae follows more slowly, his smile still pasted on as he hefts a leg onto the table and settles into the second chair, the one in front of me, facing Evan. The two of them sit in the middle of the cleared table, framed by torches and watchful eyes.
“Brad,” Alistair says. “Would you do the honors?”
Brad starts with Evan, who gives the longtimer a wink.
Brad responds with an unamused shake of his head and a tighter pull on the first ankle restraint.
In his sleeveless linen shirt, he looks like he could rip the buckles off the chair by accident, and Evan’s gaze keeps catching on all that bare muscle before darting away again.
The third time it happens, something in Brad’s expression settles. He reaches across Evan for the far strap, then bends his arm until his bicep swells inches from Evan’s face.
Evan’s Adam’s apple bobs before he catches himself, cracks his neck, and goes back to playing it cool.
Brad moves to Dae’s chair, his face returning to professional austerity as he fastens the restraints.
From where I’m sitting, Dae is mostly a profile of bare throat, sharp cheekbones, soft curls, and a lean body made more delicate by the loose white fabric.
He keeps his smile in place while Brad works, but it thins when Brad’s hand closes around his ankle.
Brad gives him nothing back. Almost nothing. At the last buckle, his eyes lift for half a second and catch on Dae’s face before he looks away and pulls the strap tight.
When Brad turns back to Evan, he flashes the first smile I’ve seen from him. Evan’s gaze drops straight back to his arm before he nods.
That’s it. That’s all the procedural preface I’m getting, and my panic finally catches up as Brad sits down again and Linus turns back to the cart.
I can’t stop watching Linus skim his fingers over the cart’s contents, even though Jake has chosen the smarter target and fixed his attention on Alistair.
Before I can make myself follow his lead, Linus hooks something soft over one shoulder, lifts a pair of silver shears, and snips the blades once.
“Shall we begin?” he asks.
“Bring it on,” Evan says.
Dae settles deeper against the chair with a sigh.
A low bassline thrums from hidden speakers as Linus climbs onto the table and begins circling them. His nerves fall away with every step. By the time he completes the loop, his body has gone loose and precise, like the table was the stage he’d been waiting for all night.
“Interesting,” Linus says, fingertips skimming the backs of both chairs. “One of you wants us to believe he can take anything. The other wants us to believe he doesn’t care.”
Evan flashes him a grin. “Maybe we’re both telling the truth.”
Linus glances pointedly at his lap. “Your cock already disagrees.”
Laughter breaks around the table, and Evan’s grin tightens before his gaze flicks toward Brad. Brad’s mouth shifts at one corner before he looks away.
“He can watch,” Linus says. “But he’s not going to save you.”
Dae exhales through his nose. “And what does my cock have to say?”
Linus drifts behind his chair, one hand sliding over the wood without touching him. “Nothing yet.” He leans close enough for Dae’s smile to strain at the edges. “But you’re working very hard to keep it that way.” He straightens and looks between them. “Let’s see which lie breaks first.”
Alistair watches with quiet satisfaction.
Linus catches the approval in Alistair’s expression. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, his smile lifts, and from that moment on, he performs as though Alistair is the only person at the table.
Most of the others lean forward with their glasses and hungry eyes, settling in for game night hosted by a billionaire cult leader, while I try to make my face do anything except scream.
Linus turns the shears in his hand, letting the firelight glance off the blades before stepping toward Evan.
“I, for one, would like to see what we’re working with.”
The joke earns another round of laughter. Evan answers with as much of a theatrical bow as the restraints allow.
The scissors make quick work of the white linen.
The cuts are practiced rather than threatening, each careful snip accompanied by the attention of half a dozen men watching from their seats.
Strips of fabric drift onto the tabletop until Alistair’s matching uniform hangs in scraps from the restraints and pools across the wood.
The reaction around the table is immediate, and it’s impossible to miss why.
Evan had been attractive before. Exposed beneath the torchlight, he becomes something else entirely. His confidence grows in direct proportion to the number of eyes on him, his easy grin making him look less trapped than displayed. A few guys whistle. One raises his glass.
Evan beams back at them.
Dae draws a quieter reaction. Evan invites applause; looking at Dae feels almost intrusive.
The loose fabric had hidden how lean he was, narrow-hipped and compact beneath the white linen.
Dark curls fall over his forehead, softening sharp cheekbones and a body held rigid beneath everyone’s attention.
He keeps his smile in place, but his jaw is set and his shoulders are tight enough to betray him.
I steal a glance at Jake beside me, but only his face is angled toward the show. His attention remains fixed on Alistair, who watches with total focus.
Linus spins between the chairs, and then keeps spinning. One turn becomes two, then three, the shears lifted overhead until they catch the torchlight in flashing arcs. The table cheers, but it’s the pointed foot that reminds me what he does for a living. A trained dancer. Clearly.
Though ballet probably doesn’t end with the dancer landing in another man’s lap.
Evan laughs, startled for the first time all night, as Linus peels off his own shirt and tosses it aside. He lifts the shears in one final flourish before setting them carefully beside Evan’s foot.
Then Linus moves.
His hips find the bassline, and the rest of him follows, every roll controlled, every shift of weight calculated. He settles against Evan just long enough for Evan’s grin to slip, then rises before their bodies can find a rhythm.
Evan follows him as far as the restraints allow.
Linus notices, and his smile turns wicked.
He trails his fingers down Evan’s chest, over his stomach, and along the waistband of his black briefs without slipping beneath it. Evan’s hips lift after the touch, chasing what Linus has already withdrawn.
Laughter rises again, but Evan doesn’t join it. His grin stays fixed while his hips strain after Linus, the first real fracture in all that easy confidence.
Somehow, even with a billionaire watching and restraint chairs on the dinner table, all I can think is—Linus is really fucking good.
The awe clears just enough panic from my head to make room for something useful. Since I’m not technically part of this test, I should be doing something besides gawking.
I scan the deck again. Evan is hard, men are cheering, and the whole scene is too outrageous to try to convey in any normal article. Evie was right. We need proof.
The fresh white napkins beside the nightcaps are embroidered AB.
I already have the Kink List. One napkin would be another small step toward making the impossible sound true.
It wouldn’t prove what happened here, but it would prove I’d reached Alistair’s table.
Right now, even that feels worth stealing.
Linus leaves Evan straining after him and moves toward Dae.
This time, when he straddles the restrained man, I have to move my wineglass out of the way for his foot.
“You’re not exactly my type,” Dae says as Linus begins the same slow roll.
“I know that, silly.”
Linus takes the cloth from his shoulder. From this close, I can see the small AB stitched into one corner before he ties it over Dae’s eyes.
“Now you can pretend I’m anyone you want.”
Dae’s mouth curves. “That won’t improve your chances.”
“We’ll see.”
Linus traces both hands down Dae’s exposed chest while grinding into his lap. Without sight, Dae can no longer anticipate the touch. He goes rigid when Linus’s fingers reach his stomach, but by the time he braces for more, Linus has lifted his hands away.
Dae’s head follows the lost contact by half an inch before he catches himself, his disinterest finally slipping.
The napkin is close enough to steal. Stuff it in my waistband, maybe. My dignity is already dead.
Linus glances toward Alistair, catches whatever he sees there, then looks directly at me.
“Marcus.”
I go still, though it wasn’t Alistair’s command. The voice came from the table, and Linus is looking at me while he keeps moving over Dae.
“New guy honors,” Linus says. “Go fetch whatever you want me to use next.”
His chin jerks toward the cart, and I follow the gesture, catching Jake in my periphery. He keeps his attention elsewhere, deliberately, because there are too many eyes on our corner for him to risk giving me anything.
“Sure thing,” I say, pushing back from the table. Should I sound more eager? Act like watching three men get each other off is exactly the kind of evening Marcus Wilder came prepared for? “Love being promoted to slutty supply intern.”
A few people laugh, but sweat prickles along my hairline as I step up to the cart. My back heats under all that attention, and when I glance over my shoulder, my gaze doesn’t make it past Alistair.
How am I still the thing Alistair wants to watch when Linus is on the table putting on one hell of a show for two very hard men?